


The Last to Know

by icandrawamoth



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Amnesia, Angst, Big Bang Challenge, Crying, Developing Relationship, Flashbacks, Heart-to-Heart, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Married Couple, Memory Loss, Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovered Memories, Repressed Memories, Reunions, Star Wars Big Bang, Surprises, Tag All The Tags, Therapy, post-Lusankya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 00:06:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18712471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: Tycho returns from his imprisonment in Lusankya missing most memories of his life up to that point. Wedge Antilles, the husband he doesn't remember, does his best to aid in his recovery, but not everything is as it seems.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Written for swbigbang. Thanks so much to Betsy / aphorisnt for fantastic betaing, handholding, enthusiasm, and creating [a truly amazing playlist](https://8tracks.com/aphorisnt/the-last-to-know) (probably best listened to after you've fnished the fic) and lilyrose225 for the time and effort of creating the [podfic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18713371).
> 
>  **Content warnings:** extended discussions of memory loss, PTSD, anxiety, and past torture

_Tycho Celchu. My name is Tycho Celchu,_ the man keeps repeating to himself, one hand skittering over the flight controls as the other rakes dirty blond hair out of his face. _And I'm going home._

He's not completely sure where that is right now, but it's where he's going. He'd finally gotten away from the Imperial prison – that's what counts. This shuttle he managed to escape in. The coordinates he'd input by instinct.

Home. Safe. Away from the pain and the fear. Friendly faces. Food and a bath. Simple things. The only things he wants.

The shuttle flashes out of hyperspace over a blue and green planet. The globe spins slowly in space, the light of its star catching the edges of the atmosphere. Serene. A smile stretches onto Tycho's face, feeling odd after so long without.

The comm squawks, startling him. “Imperial shuttle, Chandrila Air Control,” a harsh voice says, “identify yourself and your purpose here or be destroyed.”

Tycho scrambles for the response key, desperate. “Hold fire!” he cries, then tries to swallow the panic in his voice. “Tycho Celchu,” he says aloud. “My name is Tycho Celchu. Captain, New Republic Starfighter Command.” The additional words slip out automatically, and he blinks. He's a pilot. That makes sense. That's how he was able to fly here.

There's a pregnant pause from the other end of the line, then the voice is back, even more suspicious. “Give me your identification code, Captain Celchu.”

For a moment, Tycho panics again. He can't have come this far to be shot down now. He can't, he can't... And then, there it is, rising up in the back of his mind like a ghost. Trusting it, he rattles off the string of numbers.

“That's correct.” The Air Control officer sounds dumbfounded, but he quickly rights himself. “I'm sending you a course. Two escorts will bring you in to land. Any deviation from the prescribed path will lead to your destruction. Do you understand?”

Tycho spots a pair of starfighters rising from the planet, coming toward him. X-wings. Some of the fear recedes at the familiar shapes.

“Do you understand, Captain?” the Air Control officer repeats, the edge back in his voice.

“I understand, sir,” Tycho answers automatically. “As ordered.”

He watches the X-wings take their places on either side of him and slowly guides his shuttle along the flightpath he's been given. He can't wait to be on the ground.

He can't wait to speak to someone who can tell him who he is.

 

Tycho's escorts lead him in a wide looping path around Hanna City, finally setting down at an out-of-the-way landing pad on the outskirts of the capital. He realizes with a coldness in his gut that the powers that be think he's a risk. If they know he was in Lusankya – if they even _suspect_ , and they will know soon enough – it's right for them to take precautions, to keep him away from as many people as possible.

Though he understands, it doesn't make it any easier when as soon as he sets down his shuttle armed guards close in and circle around it, the pair of X-wings positioning themselves on the pad so they can get off a shot if he does anything funny.

“Captain Celchu,” his comm buzzes, “shut down your ship and emerge slowly with your hands in the air. You will be taken into custody and questioned on your whereabouts for the past six months. Will you comply?”

Tycho swallows hard. Yes, of course, they'll want to know everything that happened since the last time he checked in while on his mission to Coruscant. This was to be expected. “Yes, sir,” he says and begins the ship's shutdown sequence.

A minute later, Tycho's heart is pounding as he lowers the ramp and takes a careful step forward, hands in the air. He sees the slight twitch in the surrounding guards and does his best to hold in a flinch. No sudden movements. If he does something stupid to startle them now and gets himself killed, this all will have been for nothing.

He takes one step, then two, the slight metal clang of the ramp giving way to the solidity of the landing pad. An officer steps forward – unfamiliar, though to Tycho everyone is unfamiliar now – gun pointed at the space between them, seeming casual though Tycho knows it could rise to kill him in an instant.

Another man and woman with handheld scanners emerge from the line and slowly circle Tycho, waving the instruments over him, leaving no spot unchecked.

“No weapons,” the woman reports, and the leader nods once.

“Inside the building, Celchu,” he commands, jerking his head toward it. “Follow my every order and there won't be any trouble.”

Tycho takes a long breath and does as he says.

 

The whole thing is dehumanizing, but Tycho is used to that after Akrit'tar. The Imperial prison guards weren't exactly kind to their charges, and if he expected better now that he's home in the New Republic, he doesn't have the will to focus on it.

The security team leads him to a small room with an open-air shower in one corner and orders him to strip and clean himself. He can't even enjoy it. The the water is cold, the soap astringent, and hard eyes bore into his vulnerable form the entire time.

When he's finished, they turn him around and scan him again, prodding and poking until they're absolutely certain he isn't hiding anything dangerous on his person. They still haven't asked him any questions. They’re barely spoken to him at all.

They hand him a stack of clothes, a simple tunic and pair of pants more reminiscent of the prison uniform he just discarded than not but at least the garments are clean, and there are no holes.

Still without speaking, they put him in another room, this one smaller. Four white walls and a single metal bench. Vague memories of drunken brawls and loud laughter and similar rooms flash through his mind, but they’re gone before he can really get hold of them.

His escorts unceremoniously leave him there, locking him in alone. The only comfort, if he can call it that, is the small window in the door through which he can see the back of the leader’s head. Tycho wishes the man would tell him what’s going to happen or at least give him some idea of what to expect and dispel some of the unease curling in his gut.

He hadn't expected some sort of triumphant homecoming. After all, he hasn't done anything worth lauding. And yet...he thought there might be someone waiting. He remembers so little of his life before Lusankya, but he must have had friends. Family. Someone who worried about where he'd gone and what had happened to him. Someone who would be glad to see him alive and returned. Someone who would appreciate how hard he fought and what he went through to get back to them. Is that a selfish thing to wish for?

Tycho sits in the middle of the bench, rubbing hands through his still-damp hair and beard. He wonders when or even if they'll let him get it cut – it’s not like they’re going to let him near anything sharp, being this distrustful of him. So many little things, steps back to becoming who he was...

Who was he?

He squeezes his eyes closed, fingers tightening in his hair for a moment, and the pain helps center him. It's fine. He's fine. He's away from Ysanne Isard, he escaped the Imperial prison, he's safe. These people will help him. Things will come back. They have to come back.

He doesn't know how many hours pass before the door opens again. Tycho whips his head up from where he'd been...dozing? Dissociating?

Standing in the doorway is another unfamiliar man, a frown on his face and a blaster cradled in one arm. “Come with me,” he says.

Tycho does, and he's led to yet another room, this one even smaller, but different. There's a big mirror along one side he has the distinct impression isn't a mirror at all. He can feel eyes on him, and they aren't just from the dark-haired, severe-looking woman sitting at the tiny table in the middle of the room.

He takes the seat indicated across from her.

“Captain Tycho Celchu,” she says, not quite a question, but he nods anyway.

“I am Agent Turnell with New Republic Intelligence, and we're here for your initial debriefing. Tell me, Captain, where have you been since you failed to return from your Coruscant mission?”

Tycho tries to gather himself. He knows his treatment so far has been a precaution. He disappeared without warning. He could have simply gone AWOL – or the true Tycho could be dead, himself really some kind of enemy agent, a shapeshifter or a clone sent to destroy a high-value target. The moment he says the word “Lusankya,” so many of those fears will be proven true.

“I was captured,” he says, voice a little shaky from disuse. He clears his throat and tries to sound calm and in control. “I was made before I could leave Coruscant, and shortly after takeoff, my TIE was hit by an ion blast. Everything went haywire. I couldn't escape or self-destruct.” He shudders, this memory surprisingly clear even if it feels oddly unattached to anything else. “There was an impact. I blacked out. When I woke up” – he braces himself, says the words – “I was with Ysanne Isard. In the Lusankya prison.”

To her credit, Turnell merely raises an eyebrow. He imagines the frenzied reaction behind the mirror. “Are you going to claim you escaped from said prison? It has never been done before.”

Tycho looks down at the table. “No. I was eventually moved to a penal colony on Akrit'tar and escaped from there.”

Turnell makes a note on her datapad. “Very well, Captain. You claim to have been detained in Ysanne Isard's prison, Lusankya, which is infamous for turning out brainwashed Imperial agents.”

It feels like a leading question, but Tycho only nods. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Tell me about your time there.”

“I can only say what I remember,” Tycho begins slowly. “My memories of it are...incomplete.” He swallows. “My memories are incomplete,” he says again. “Not just of the prison, but...everything.”

“Everything?”

“My entire life up to this point,” Tycho clarifies. “I know I'm a pilot. I know I fly for the New Republic. I remember the Empire and the Galactic Civil War and my mission to Coruscant, but the details about my life up to then seem to be missing.”

“Interesting,” Turnell notes as she writes that down, like he's suddenly turned from another dull assignment to some kind of novel experiment. “Tell me what you do remember about the prison.”

Tycho swallows in frustration. Of course his personal peace of mind comes last. NRI needs information, anything he can give them that might point to Lusankya's location or Isard's methods. He understands.

So he tells what he knows. About the rocky walls of the living area, probably someplace underground, the manual labor used to grind the prisoners down as much as the gravel they moved. The fuzzy images of Isard's torture – electricity and sharp implements and sharper smiles. Half-remembered flight simulations. And so many words. She was always talking, a quiet, insidious, convincing tone, and it all blurs together in his head.

Turnell frowns up at him when his words dribble to a halt. “Is that all?” she asks bluntly.

Tycho bristles. “I could tell you how most of what I remember is just fear and pain and this driving desperation just _get away_ even if that meant dying so I wouldn't have to deal with it anymore, but I didn't think that would be helpful.”

Turnell's face goes stony. “Captain, if you're going to get aggressive with me...”

“No. I'm sorry.” Tycho rubs a hand over his eyes. “What else do you need to know?”

The NRI agent watches him for long moments before glancing back at her datapad. “Isard was trying to convert you to one of her sleeper agents. Are you claiming she did not succeed?”

Tycho's mouth drops open before he can stop it. He hadn't thought he would have to _say_ it. “She didn't turn me. I would never do her bidding”

“Dozens of others have said the same, and yet…” Her voice trails off, the implication clear.

Tycho clenches his hands together under the table. “I have no way of proving it to you, Agent.”

“No. Believe me when I say you will be extensively studied before being allowed anywhere near anything or anyone which might prove vulnerable to such an agent.”

It hits Tycho hard then that he's not just going to walk out of here. This debriefing isn't going to be one meeting. He's not going to go free at the end of the day. They're going to keep him until they're certain – and they may never been certain.

The sudden knowledge catches him off-guard, and for a moment he can't breathe.

“Your medical and psychiatric examinations will begin at another time,” Turnell says calmly. “For now, we're just looking at the basics. How much of those six months did you spend at Lusankya before you were transferred?”

“Three,” Tycho tells her. It had taken him a long time to figure that out. The murky days in Isard's hellhole had blended into one another, just an endless stream of desperation and fight for survival. He'd been at the Akrit'tar penal colony for weeks before he overheard two guards talking and realized the date, how much time had passed.

Not that Akrit'tar had been much better than Lusankya. That's what Turnell wants to know about next, of course, and at least here he has information to give her. These memories, the things that happened after he came out of his post-Lusankya fugue, are far more solid. Hard labor. Starvation-level rations. Bare wooden shelves that acted as beds. Constant beatings from the guards. Watched constantly.

She's less interested in those things, of course, than the details of the prison itself. Did he know anyone who was there? What were the defenses like? How _exactly_ did he escape?

He knows what her pointed questions drive at. She suspects they moved him to the camp and then let him go as a way of getting him back into the New Republic to fulfill whatever mission they may have given him.

“I tried to escape more than once,” he tells her. “I was caught and punished twice before I managed it.” He's still calm on the outside, but he quakes inside at the memory. He's certain they would have killed him had he failed again. As it was, he barely survived. He has the scars to show for it, outside and in.

He details how he'd memorized the guard rotations and watched for an opening. How he'd learned from his mistakes, thinking through the next plan even as he struggled to live through his failures. And when he'd finally sat in the cockpit of that shuttle, gleaming controls under his fingers...

He doesn't tell her how it felt like coming alive again, like everything had been worth it. He simply reports inputting the first coordinates that had come to his mind and how that had eventually led him to this moment.

Turnell listens, eyes on her datapad, inputting notes on everything he says. Even after he stops speaking, she continues typing for several minutes. Eventually, she stops, turns the device off, slides the stylus into the slot in the back, and raises calm eyes to him.

“Is there anything else you need to know?” he asks, suddenly uncertain.

“That will do for now.” She gets to her feet and slides her chair in. Tycho flinches as metal squeals across the duracrete floor. “Wait here.”

Then she's gone. Tycho stares at the table, wondering what will happen next. He looks back at the mirror, trying to imagine what's going on behind it. He tries to remember something, anything, about himself. Turnell hadn't even seemed to care about that. How he's...not okay. She only wanted his information.

It's the first step, he tells himself, closing his eyes and focusing on breathing evenly. Once they've been assured he's not a risk, they'll help him. They'll heal him.

The door opens, startling him out of the momentary calm, and the two blaster-toting agents from before are back. “Come with us,” the man says.

Tycho stands and approaches slowly. “Where are are you taking me?”

He doesn't actually expect an answer, and so is surprised when the man says, “You're being transferred to NRI Headquarters in the city.”

Tycho almost smiles at that. They've deemed him not an immediate risk, then. That's progress, isn't it?

The guards lead him to a waiting speeder and press him into the backseat, locking the door securely behind him before climbing into the front. The journey across the city is short, but Tycho's eyes devour the view through the tinted window. It's been so long since he saw anything that looked like _life_.

At the other end, he's led out again and into a maze of sterile halls, ending with another small, white room. Holocams and microcomm pickups dot the ceiling. An exposed refresher and sink stand in one corner, a small table and pair of chairs in another. Instead of a bench, there's a bed. It’s single-sized, with a plain gray blanket and pillow, but it looks like the most comfortable thing Tycho has ever seen. Abruptly, he feels every ache in his body, the pure exhaustion of too much suffering and too little sleep for six entire months welling up to fill him.

“This is where you will stay for the time being,” the female guard says.

It certainly isn't home, but it's something. Tycho stomach rumbles suddenly, and he says quietly, “I haven't eaten since...” How long has it been exactly since his last meal before escaping Akrit'tar?

Not taking his eyes off Tycho, the man speaks into his comlink for a moment before telling him, “A meal will be brought.” Then he's nudging Tycho back into the room and closing the door between them.

Tycho tries to ignore the uneasy feeling growing in his gut. This is different from Lusankya or Akrit'tar. There were always other people around in those cases, other prisoners. Now he's been in what amounts to solitary for less than a day, and it's already making him antsy. He wonders once again when a friendly face will come for him. Surely there's someone out there?

A flap at the bottom of the door opens, and a tray slides in. Tycho retrieves it and sits on the bed, taking in the food he's been given. Delicious-smelling steam rises from a bowl of rice and beans. It's accompanied by two pieces of bread, half a dozen slices of meiloorun, and a bottle of vitamin drink. It looks like a feast after what he's been eating the last few months. He picks up a spoon and digs in.

Tycho doesn't realize how fast he's eating until he suddenly looks down and the tray is empty. Oddly ashamed, he realizes it's some animal instinct in the back of his mind: eat as much as you can as quickly as you can in case the food is taken away – and you never know when or if there'll be more. It's not a shock – both of those things happened to him on Akrit'tar. Often.

He sits there for a moment letting the meal settle. He can already feel his stomach beginning to ache from being more full than it has in so long, but Tycho tells himself that's a good thing. Along with everything else, he'd forgotten what it felt like to be full.

Slowly, he crosses the room and pushes the tray out through the slot, then turns to look around again. The holocams in the ceiling are placed to view every possible angle. Of course. They'll want to observe him and be able to know the instant he does anything suspicious.

Even the refresher is in full view, and thought he doesn't like the thought of it, Tycho uses it anyway. He makes himself not deliberately turn his back to the cams to hide himself, unwilling to do anything that might bring further suspicion upon him.

He's just finished washing his hands when the lights in the room abruptly dim. Before he has time to wonder what's going on, a voice sounds over hidden speakers, “Your debriefing will continue in the morning, Captain Celchu. For now, it is our suggestion that you rest while you are able.”

Tycho shivers, trying not to read too much into that, and climbs into the bed. The pillow is so soft under his head, the blankets warm and comforting. He hasn't slept in a bed like this since...

Abruptly, he's crying. Instinctively, he turns his face into the pillow to hide the tears. Crying is weakness. The guards will– But no. He's not there anymore. He's never going to wake up on Akrit'tar again, never has to fear another beating or reduced food portions or more backbreaking work because some cruel Imperial is punishing him for daring to react to what he's going through.

For a moment, Tycho smiles, even through the tears. He isn't crying right now because he's scared or hungry or traumatized – no, this is _relief._ Finally, he's safe.

 

Tycho wakes to a sharp bang on the door and finds a breakfast tray and a neatly folded pile of fresh clothes. He eats the scrambled eggs and toast and drinks the blue milk – telling himself to take it slow this time – and then dresses, already anxiously wondering what NRI will have in store for him today.

Soon, the door opens and admits a small hovering droid who announces in a buzzing voice that it's here to trim Tycho's hair. After he haltingly explains what he wants done, the droid goes about its work with silent efficiency, flitting from side to side around his head and then cleaning the floor perfunctorily before zooming back out the door. The whole experience is so disconcerting, Tycho can hardly feel relieved to be looking like himself again.

Not long after, the door opens again, and this time the male guard from the day before gestures Tycho out into the hall. Feeling more alert now, Tycho actually takes a moment to look at him. The name _Sage_ is stitched on his uniform, and his brown hair is tousled. He has to be younger than Tycho is, barely out of whichever academy he came from.

“You're headed back to interr– um, debriefing this morning,” Sage informs him as they walk. Tycho is already sensing that this is the kindest of his guards he's going to meet.

“You can say interrogation,” Tycho says, trying to make it light and mostly failing. “That's what it is, isn't it?”

Sage turns away uncomfortably, but then they're at what can honestly only be called an interrogation room, so the question is answered. It might as well be exactly the same room he was in yesterday – the mirror, the table and chairs, Agent Turnell waiting for him.

“Good morning, Captain,” she says as Tycho sits and Sage retreats to the door. “I want you to start today by recounting your Coruscant mission for me, everything from the moment of departure from where you were based at the time to your capture and detention in Lusankya.”

Tycho tells her. More of it seems to come back as he talks, and he feels like he has nearly the entire story. There were no difficulties in the first part of the mission. He arrived at Coruscant and slipped into his undercover identity and duties seamlessly. He got the information he was sent for and beamed it back to his superiors. It was only when he took off to return that everything somehow went to hell.

Mostly he thinks Turnell is trying to catch any inconsistencies, for him to slip up and say something to implicate himself, or to reveal a detail that points to his “capture” being some sort of ruse. He hates the way the agent seems to assume him guilty in one way or another, but there's nothing he can do to combat it but tell the truth.

After an hour of questions and answers about Coruscant, they move back to Lusankya. Turnell asks him most of the same questions from the day before, reworked and posited over and over. Trying to trip him up, get him to admit something he's hiding. Or maybe it’s just a method of jump-starting his memory, though he'd beg the former. Either way, he doesn't think he gives her much new information.

She questions him for what feels like hours, alternately staring at him emotionlessly over the top of her datapad and making careful notes on it.

“And your memory of before?” she asks when he's described his flight from Akrit'tar in excruciating detail once again, the question seeming like an afterthought. “Has anything else come back to you?”

“No.” Tycho looks at his hands where they rest on the table and quenches the urge to clutch them together. He still feels so lost.

Turnell makes a noncommittal sound and notes it on her pad. “Very fell. I'll see you tomorrow.”

Tycho nods, trying not to let defeat creep in. How many times will they have to go through this?

He's escorted back to his quarters for a quick lunch, then taken to a new room. A medical lab of some sort, all sterile metal surfaces and odd-looking tools.

“Sit, please,” the medical droid who greets him instructs in a pleasant female voice, gesturing to an upright chair with a helmet-shaped device hanging over it. Once he has, she explains, “I've been told you're having memory problems, most likely due to the interrogation and attempted conversion methods used during your captivity by Ysanne Isard in the prison Lusankya. Today we're going to scan your brain and check for possible damage. How does that sound?”

Tycho wills away his immediate answer. “Fine.”

“Very well. Just sit still; this won't hurt a bit.”

The droid lowers the device over his head. It covers his eyes, and he closes them, focusing on the darkness and soft humming sound the helmet makes, trying to keep himself calm. He hadn't considered actual brain damage. If Isard did manage to physically injure his brain, he might never recover his life. He can feel his hands starting to tremble at the thought and slides them under his thighs to hide the reaction.

“Be still,” the droid admonishes mildly.

“I'm sorry.”

“You're doing fine.” Her words turn cheery again. “The scan is nearly complete.”

Tycho centers on his breathing. In, out. In, out. The helmet ticks softly in his ears. Then, suddenly, it stops and lifts away.

“Very good,” the droid says as she steps over to examine a readout. Tycho watches her, wishing she was human, that he could look at her face and glean some sort of hint as to what she sees there.

“As I suspected,” she says, turning her glowing photoreceptors back on him. She swings the display toward him, and Tycho blinks at a diagram of his brain that honestly doesn't mean much to him. “You can see here,” the droid says, pointing. “The region involved with memory recall has receded a bit. No more than one would expect from someone in your position. Prolonged exposure to stress – and in your case, torture – that's what causes this. The brain trying to protect itself.” She pauses, servos whirring softly. “And if Isard was trying to convert you, she might have played upon that purposefully once she was done interrogating you, disconnecting you from your old life so you would cling to the things she told you.”

Tycho shivers. “Can it be reversed?”

“Time will tell. The trauma you've experienced has caused you to block out most memories of what happened to you during your captivity, and it has taken parts of the rest of your life with it. In time, while you recover, things may be begin to come back. Both the bad memories and the good. Or they may not. Psychological help is currently being arranged for you; that person will be able to help you more than I can.”

Tycho nods. He doesn't like that she doesn't have a solid answer for him, but he also understands why. All he can do is try. “Thank you.”

“Of course, Captain.” The droid pats his arm, and though the motion is caring, her hand is hard and cold. “Do you have any other questions for me right now?”

“I guess I'll wait for the counselor.”

 

Sage takes him back to his room for lunch before leading him away once again. It's only been a day, and Tycho is already starting to tire of the seemingly endless procession of small rooms, of new faces, of questions.

But this one is different. This room is carpeted in calming pastel blue, walls as pale as the others but hung with pictures – photographs of unfamiliar faces and, centered behind the large dark wood desk, a diploma. Opposite the desk is a soft-looking blue couch dotted with plush pillows, and next to the couch is a matching armchair where an elderly male Gotal sits, adjusting wire-framed glasses over darker marks on the brown fur of his face that almost seem to match them.

“Lieutenant Sage, please wait outside, and close the door behind you,” he says in a soft voice, and the guard does as ordered.

Tycho hesitates, and the counselor gives him a reassuring smile. “Hello, Tycho,” he says. “If you don't mind me using your given name?”

Tycho shakes his head slowly. Already this man feels friendlier than anyone else he's met since he arrived.

“Good. Please have a seat.” The man gestures to the couch. “I'm Dr. Catrus Brandt, and I'm going to be your mental health contact from this point forward.” His mouth twists ruefully. “I'm afraid I can't offer you the usual doctor-patient confidentiality given your specific situation, but I am going to help you as much as I can.”

Tycho nods as he seats himself, not trusting his voice. He feels wobbly already, the sudden genuine sympathy after having none overwhelming.

“I understand you may not feel comfortable speaking at first,” Brandt continues. “We'll try and see how it goes, eh?”

“Okay.”

Brandt smiles again. “There. All right, Tycho. Can you try to tell me how you're feeling now? Give us someplace to start?”

Tycho lets out a slow breath. “I...” He bites his lip, trying to decide what to say, trying to settle his suddenly-roiling thoughts enough to speak clearly. “I've been talking to Agent Turnell since I got back,” he says finally, “but...it hasn't felt like a discussion. More like an interrogation.”

Brandt nods. “The Agent is here for information, and she's more focused on that than seeing you as a person. I understand how that can be overwhelming. What else?”

“I didn't feel like I could ask her anything in return.”

“What do you want to ask, Tycho?”

Tycho looks away, blinking rapidly. “About what I did... I was in captivity for so long. It took me so long to escape from Akrit'tar, and even before I was transferred there... I know I told Isard things. She– she tortured me. A lot. And I couldn't...I don't remember so many of the details, but I know I would have done anything to make it stop. Said anything. And I did, and...she still didn't stop.”

“No one could have expected differently from you, Tycho,” Brandt says, his voice strong and soothing. His face is creased, and Tycho can only imagine what the Gotal might be picking up from him given his species’ latent empathic abilities. “It is natural for any living creature exposed to pain to endeavor to make it stop however possible.”

Tycho looks down to where his hands are worrying themselves together in his lap. “I still shouldn't have said anything. I was trained better than that. Capture was always a possibility, and I should have...been more ready.”

“It's hard to ever really be ready for that sort of thing. Think of it this way, Tycho. You were a pilot. A skilled one, certainly, judging from your record, but not in a relatively high position, privy to no secrets. Your identification codes were put on lockdown the moment you failed to make your rendezvous. There's little if anything you might have given Isard that could cause real damage.”

Tycho closes his eyes, relief coursing through him. These thoughts had occurred to him, but hearing them reinforced aloud makes them more real. “Thank you,” he manages.

“I'm only telling you the truth. Now, what else is there?”

“My memory,” Tycho says. “I hate not knowing...anything. I barely know who I am. And I'm lonely, and I don't even know who I'm missing.”

“Now, some of that I can help with.” Brandt picks up a sheet of flimsi from the arm of his chair and holds it out to Tycho. “This is a section of your service record. Simple biographical information, but it's a place to begin.”

Tycho takes the sheet, swallowing the trepidation and excitement that suddenly clog his throat. He scans the lines of Aurebesh, heart pounding. _Captain Tycho Celchu. Birth: 21 BBY, Alderaan. Former Imperial TIE fighter pilot. Defected shortly after the Battle of Yavin._

Alderaan. It's more like awakening in the morning to having knowledge come back rather than learning it for the first time. More the return of a dull ache than a fresh stab wound.

“You remember something,” Brandt observes.

“Alderaan,” Tycho affirms quietly. “I could never really forget that.”

The counselor nods. “With luck and effort, the rest of your memories may return as easily.”

Tycho scans the rest of the sheet, but nothing else really sparks in his mind. There are notes of his service at various battles, lists of the squadrons he served in. He knows the names, their general effects on the galaxy, but none of it feels personal. Real.

He hands back the flimsi wordlessly.

“That's a start,” Brant says encouragingly. “If things don't start coming back to you soon, I can give you more information in future meetings that may further encourage your recall. For now, though, I have just one more question for you. How are you adjusting to being free?”

Tycho has to think about that for a moment. “It's strange,” he admits. “Part of me keeps thinking this is all some kind of hallucination or one of Isard's traps, like I'm going to be yanked back there at any moment. And then...”

“And then?”

Tycho bites his lip. “It's different. I know it's different. But in a lot of ways it doesn't feel like being free at all, just exchanging one prison for another.”

“That's understandable, Tycho. But I'm sure you understand the security concerns.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You don't need to call me 'sir.'”

“Yes, doctor,” Tycho amends.

Brant holds his eyes for a moment before glancing down at his datapad. “That's everything I have for you today. Is there anything else you need to talk about?”

Tycho tries to take stock of himself. He still doesn't feel normal, if he can even remember what that feels like. He's still shaky and unsure and hurting and scared but he doesn't know what he can say to Dr. Brandt or what the counselor can say to him to make any of that better.

“Not right now,” he settles on.


	2. Part Two

Two more days pass, a seemingly endless cycle of visits to Turnell and Brandt and medical. Tycho doesn't think they’re getting anything new out of him, but he understands they need to be sure. The more times he's asked the same question phrased in a different way, the more likely they are to ferret out a possible mistruth. Even if he also knows there are none to find.

He's back in his room after yet another round with Turnell that leaves him feeling inexplicably guilty and wondering how to amuse himself until his dinner arrives when there's a knock on the door. It makes Tycho tilt his head curiously as he automatically gets to his feet. The guards don't usually knock.

A moment later, the door opens, and an unfamiliar man enters as Sage immediately pulls the door closed behind him. The new man has dark hair, dark eyes, and wears a military uniform that's more familiar to Tycho than he is. There's a sort of shocked expression on his face as he looks at Tycho, and Tycho feels his own stomach tighten. This has to be it, he thinks with strained relief, finally, someone who cares about him come to visit.

“ _Tycho_ ,” the man breathes, and something about his voice is familiar. Tycho trusts this man, he knows, even if he doesn't yet understand who he is.

The man reaches out spasmodically, but stops before he comes into contact with Tycho. “Sithspit,” he breathes. “They were right. You have no idea who I am.”

“I'm sorry,” Tycho says, guilt creeping up again.

The man shakes his head slowly, pain in his expression now. “No, don't be. It's all right. Gods, you're here, you're _alive_. I was so afraid–” He shakes his head sharply. “I'm sorry,” he babbles, and Tycho almost has to smile as he awkwardly holds out a hand. “I'm Wedge.”

“Wedge.” Tycho shakes his hand. There's no magic tingle, no sudden surge of memory. “Can you maybe...explain how I know you?” he suggests. “That might help.” He sits back down on the bed and gestures for Wedge to join him.

“Sure. Um, we met in the Rebellion, after you defected and joined Rogue Squadron. We flew together for years, right up until the squadron was decommissioned before you went to Coruscant. You're my best friend,” Wedge adds.

Tycho tries not to frown. His best friend, and he can't remember anything about him or the time they've spent together.

Wedge is still looking at him with this sort of awed expression. He flushes when Tycho meets his eye. “You can say no if you want,” he says hesitantly. “I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but...would it be okay if I hugged you?”

“Yes.” Tycho suddenly feels a little choked up. _Someone who cares about me._

Wedge lurches forward and wraps his arms around him, and Tycho can't help but melt into the embrace. He may not remember the man who claims to be his best friend, but there's a kind of muscle memory there. Tycho knows, deep down, that he trusts Wedge with his life.

Wedge is slow to pull back, and he dashes moisture from his eyes when he finally does. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I was just so afraid I was never going to see you again.”

“I'm here now,” Tycho assures him. “Thank you for coming to see me.”

Wedge's eyes flash. “It was hard enough getting them to let me in. I told them you're not a danger, that you never could be, but they won't listen.”

That finally makes Tycho half-smile. It's nice to have someone who agrees. “I'm trying to get my memories to come back, but everything is still so foggy,” he explains. “Maybe you could tell me some things and see if that helps?”

“Sure. What do you want to know?”

“I don't know. I'm kind of blank slate. I know the history holo facts about the war and the galaxy, but nothing personal. My past, my interests, who my friends are, that sort of thing. You're my best friend – maybe tell me about you?”

“Me?” Wedge looks dubious. “Okay. Well, I'm from Corellia. I'm an X-wing pilot, like you. I was leading Rogue Squadron before we were disbanded, with you as my XO – executive officer, I don't know if you remember stuff like that.” He makes a questioning gesture.

“I do.” Tycho smiles, then catches a glint on Wedge's hand as it moves. “Oh, you're married. Was I there?”

Wedge laughs awkwardly. “Um, yeah.”

“Sounds like a good story...”

“Kind of. You...you were the other groom.”

Tycho blinks. “We're married?” He looks down at his own empty fingers, considers dazedly that Isard would have taken any personal possessions he had with him when he was captured.

“Yeah, but it's not important,” Wedge says quickly, hands waving again, both of them this time. “Just–”

Tycho stares at him. Wedge. His husband. Someone he loves. And yet there's nothing in his memory, nothing but that automatic trust. Though that certainly makes even more sense now.

“You're my husband,” Tycho says aloud, trying the words on his lips. They don't change anything. “I can't believe I don't remember that.”

“Like I said, it's not important now,” Wedge insists. “I don't want to do or say anything that's going to make you uncomfortable, so let's just focus on getting you to remember other things, okay?”

_Is he always this selfless?_ Tycho wonders. If their roles were reversed, if he had thought his husband dead for months and then finally reunited with him only for the man to have no recollection of him or their love, Tycho would be devastated. There’s no way he would be able to keep himself as calm as Wedge is now.

“I'm sorry,” Tycho sighs. “This must be hard for you.”

Wedge shakes his head incredulously. “Are you serious? I can't even imagine what it's like for you. And what you went through...” His expression darkens. “I'm sorry.”

Tycho smiles a little. “Are we always this much of a mess?”

Wedge manages a chuckle. “Not usually this bad, no. I've heard it said we're the best wingmates around.”

“In every way?” Tycho suggests.

“Sure.”

Tycho laughs softly, feeling a little better. If he's already this comfortable with Wedge, things have to come back, right? It means something.

Wedge glances around the sparse room. “How _have_ you been, though? Are they treating you all right?”

Tycho makes a face. “It's not the best, but I get it. I'm eating more than I have in months, and I already feel stronger.”

“I did notice you lost weight,” Wedge says with a frown. “And you've got scars.” He reaches out, touches a mark on Tycho's neck. When Tycho shies away, he jerks back. “Sorry.”

“It's not you,” Tycho sighs, covering the scar with his hand reflexively. “It's...I don't know, I'm defensive. I don't think my body quite understands that not everyone who touches me now wants to hurt me.”

Wedge makes a small, pained noise, and when Tycho glances up, he's giving him this sort of longing look.

“Are you gonna ask to hug me again?” Tycho asks, going for light-hearted.

Wedge nods, eyes shiny with tears, and Tycho raises an arm in invitation. Wedge ducks forward and wraps him in warm, solid arms. This time, Tycho returns the gesture, guessing Wedge might need comfort in this moment just as much as he does.

“I'm okay,” Tycho promises him quietly. “Not perfect, but I'll get there.”

Wedge sits back after a long moment, but he keeps his hands braced on Tycho's arms like he just can't quite bring himself to stop touching him. “I missed you so much, Tycho.”

“I'm sorry I can't say the same,” Tycho admits. “I'm sure before...” A finger brushes his temple to indicate what he's trying to say. “I'm sure I thought of you every day.”

“You're going to remember everything,” Wedge says, eyes sparking. “I'm going to help you, and you're going to get better.”

Tycho smiles. “I'm sure now that I have you here with me, that's true.”

Wedge's hands fall away again, and Tycho feels suddenly bereft. “Tell me what I can do to help,” Wedge says. “Do you want to talk about what happened or – I don't know. What do you need from me? I want to help.”

Tycho thinks. What _does_ he need? “I've done an awful lot of talking about it already,” he says, fingers worrying at a loose string on his pants as those familiar dark emotions rise up. “They've got an Intelligence agent grilling me constantly and a counselor trying to sort out my head.”

“But a friend?” Wedge asks gently. “Or if you'd just rather not discuss it, that's okay too.” His hands twitch like he wants to reach for Tycho again, and Tycho can see frustration in his face.

“It's just hard,” Tycho admits. “I know what they want to hear from me, and I can't give it to them. I can't convince them Isard didn't manage to get to me.”

“But she didn't,” Wedge says fiercely.

“I know.” Tycho gives him a smile. “And I appreciate that you believe me, but you might be a bit biased, don't you think? And with the way no one has ever been caught before executing their programming...”

“But no one has ever remembered their time in Lusankya before, either,” Wedge points out. “You're unique, Tycho. You were too strong for her.”

“Sure.” Tycho rubs his face. “How long is it going to take to convince NRI of that?”

“Hopefully not long.” Wedge pauses, then says, “You look tired. This must all be so draining.”

“I'm not really sleeping well,” Tycho admits.

“Nightmares?”

Tycho nods. “Strange ones. There’s so much of my time in Lusankya I can’t remember, but it’s like some subconscious part of me does, and it's just...fear and darkness and confusion and pain.” He shivers, thinking of how many times he's woken up in the dim light of his cell, heart racing, alone.

“I'm sorry,” Wedge murmurs.

Tycho shakes his head. “You don't have to keep saying that.”

“But it's true,” Wedge protests. His hands ball into fists. “If there was anything I could have done to prevent this, or anything I could do to help now–”

“You're here,” Tycho tries to soothe him. “That's good.”

“Okay.” Wedge takes a breath, clearly trying to calm himself. Then he stands. “I should probably leave so you can get some rest.” The look in his eyes says he wants anything but.

“Not yet,” Tycho says too quickly.

“But you need rest,” Wedge says, concern evident in every feature even as he sits on the bed again.

“Maybe...” Tycho thinks aloud, “maybe if you stayed, I might sleep better? Maybe I've been missing you beside me, and that's part of it?”

Pain flashes across Wedge's face again. “If you think that would help.”

“It might.” Tycho gives him another smile, then pulls back the covers and climbs underneath.

Wedge stands beside the bed, hesitating. “Where do you want me?”

Tycho considers. Part of him wants the man he knows to be his husband as close to him as possible. Warm, protective arms around him, gentle kisses in his hair... But the rest of him feels like he's only just met Wedge, and he isn't ready for that yet.

“Just sit next to me?” he ventures, scooting over and making a spot for him.

“Okay.” Wedge pulls off his boots and arranges himself against the headboard with his legs under the blanket. Not touching Tycho, but within easy reach. “Is this all right?”

“Yeah.” Tycho rests his head on the pillow. He has a clear view of Wedge from here, and it calms something deep inside him. “If I start having a nightmare...”

“I'll wake you up,” Wedge promises. “You're safe with me.”

Tycho closes his eyes before any tears of relief can leak out. “Talk to me,” he says softly. “Just, give me something to listen to while I try to relax. Tell me more about yourself?”

A little haltingly, Wedge does. He tells Tycho about his childhood and joining the Rebellion, of the battles he's been in, his adventures with Rogue Squadron. Everything he says has this mixed air of pride and self-deprecation that even half-conscious Tycho can't help but find endearing.

Eventually, Tycho loses track of individual words, Wedge's voice simply drifting over him, guiding him into sleep. He dreams of space, of flying beside Wedge, of safety.

 

Wedge must slip away while Tycho sleeps, because he wakes the next morning alone. That's okay, though, because he knows Wedge will be back, and he's already looking forward to it. He slept long, hard, and undisturbed, and that's a relief. He's not looking forward to another day of interrogation, but he feels more ready to face it than he has before.

And he's right about Wedge. He's waiting in the room when Tycho returns from his session with Dr. Brandt – a long, serious one to help Tycho settle into this new development – a smile on his face, and Tycho steps into the offered hug without hesitation.

“I forgot to tell you yesterday,” Wedge says as they sit down together. “Wes and Hobbie send their love and their regrets that they can't be here. They're off training a new squadron, and Command doesn't want them bailing just to come visit you.” He rolls his eyes.

Wes. Hobbie. The names prick something in Tycho's memory. His friends, have to be. He gets an image of dark hair and laughing eyes, of a quiet man with a sarcastic smile. “I think I remember them,” he says.

Wedge pulls out a datapad and brings up an image. A large group of sentients in flight suits gathered around an X-wing. Tycho spots himself and Wedge in the center, and in the ship's cockpit and leaning against its side are the other two – Wes and Hobbie. Wedge points them out, and Tycho nods as he scans the rest of the faces.

“I remember...” he muses. Wedge watches him eagerly. “A little,” he finishes. “Impressions mostly.” Joy. Anger. Grief. Vague memories of triumphs and defeats. He traces his finger across the image. “Not all of these people are still alive.”

“No,” Wedge agrees quietly. “But a lot of them are.” He points to the faces, says the names aloud. “They're all your friends, too. They're all out there supporting you.”

Tycho nods. “I'd like to see them again.”

“You will.” Wedge tucks the datapad away, and again his ring catches Tycho's attention as he does so.

“It's so strange,” Tycho muses, “knowing you're my husband but not remembering any of it.”

“Like I said, it's not important.”

“But it is.” Tycho looks at him hard. “I _want_ to remember that. I think...” He wracks his memory, suddenly comes up with something. “I remember...it took us a long time to become friends. You were scared of me?” He wrinkles his nose; that doesn't sound right.

“Not _of_ you.” Wedge chuckles softly. “You showed up not long after Yavin. I was still reeling from all the people we lost there, and I didn't want to get attached to anyone else who might die.”

“But you did.”

“Yeah.” Wedge smiles a little. “You got under my skin somehow, Celchu.”

The affection in his gaze is so deep, Tycho has to look away for a moment. “So we were friends, then. How did we get together? Our first kiss?”

“Like I said–”

“I _know_ , you don't think it's important. Tell me anyway.”

Wedge huffs and appears to think. “Well...”

“Don't you remember?” Tycho teases.

“I'm trying to figure out how to tell it right,” Wedge shoots back. “It was sort of just a thing. You spend so much time with someone, you put your life in their hands and they put theirs in yours...” He shrugs and averts his eyes. “We came back from a mission one day, and I couldn't hold it in anymore. I kissed you.”

Tycho searches for the memory, but all he comes up with is a blank. “I must have kissed back.”

Wedge nods.

Tycho lets out a little laugh. “That's it?”

“There's not much more to it.”

“Our wedding, then?”

“Definitely not the big romantic to-do you want to hear about,” Wedge says, looking bashful. “It was shortly before the Alliance settled on Hoth. The Rogues went undercover in Canto Bight. The others were always joking about how you and me were like an old married couple. We all got way too drunk, found a chapel that did last-minute weddings in the middle of the night, and the rest is history.”

Tycho laughs in delight. “It may not be romantic, but it's quite a story.”

“Yeah.” Wedge's eyes are bright as he remembers. “We stumbled into our hotel suite as the sun was coming up, and Luke was convinced we'd all died. No one had thought to round him up for the ceremony, and he'd been looking for us all night.” Wedge chuckles.

“Did we actually accomplish the mission?”

“Oh, yes,” Wedge assures. “We Rogues have our fun, but we always get the job done.”

The words feel right, deep in Tycho's bones. “Can I see your ring?” he finds himself asking.

Wedge slips it off and hands it to him. It isn't unusual in any way, just a plain golden band that doesn't betray how much it means. Tycho aches that he doesn't have its mate.

“I wish I still had mine,” he sighs as he hands the ring back to Wedge. “I wonder what Isard would have done with it.”

“Oh. No,” Wedge says, shifting a little on the bed. “You weren't wearing it when you went. I kept your stuff for you when you didn't come back when you were supposed to, and it was there. I guess you wouldn't have wanted to lose it if something happened.”

Tycho's spirits lift. “Will you bring it to me?” he asks. “I'd like to have it, and how could they say no? What could I possibly do with a wedding ring that could hurt anyone?”

“Yeah, I can do that. No problem.”

“Thanks.” Tycho is already looking forward to it, a little bit more normalcy restored.

“Tycho...” Wedge says suddenly, and Tycho looks up, sees a torn expression on his face. “There's something else. The NRI agents want me to ask you some questions.”

As quickly as they had buoyed, Tycho's spirits sink. “Not you, too,” he says in a small voice.

“I'm sorry,” Wedge says softly. “I tried to say no, but they insisted. I was afraid they'd stop letting me come see you.” He sends a glare over Tycho's shoulder at a security cam.

Tycho sighs and drops his head but nods tiredly.

“I don't want to,” Wedge tells him as if that wasn't already crystal clear. He grinds his teeth. “I think they get the idea that you might say something to me you wouldn't to any of the others. Because you trust me. It's not fair of them.”

“No, but I understand why they'd do it.”

Wedge lets out a little frustrated sound. “You're so calm about this. How can you just let them treat you this way and not be angry? Before – you would have been angry.”

Pain flares in Tycho's chest. “I've changed,” he realizes woodenly.

Wedge bites his lip like he realizes he's said something wrong, and he slowly reaches for Tycho's hand. Tycho lets him take it. “It's understandable with what you went through.”

“Tell me.”

“You were...always so fiery before. You got angry and rushed into things and never took no for an answer when you thought you knew better. I love that about you.” Wedge falters. “But, Tycho...I get it. Isard, she – she tortured you. Didn't she? And she would have punished you for that.”

Tycho nods again, shoulders sagging. “I think I tried to defy her, at first. I yelled, then I was quiet, I refused to answer anything, but she just kept hurting me. And in the camp at Akrit'tar – that I remember clearly – it was worse. They'd beat you no matter what.”

“Tycho, I'm _so sorry._ ”

“I know.” Tycho sighs, takes his hand from Wedge and rubs his face, isn't surprised to find tears leaking from his eyes. “I wish...”

Wedge watches, silent, waiting for him to finish.

“I wish I didn't remember _any_ of it,” Tycho finishes on a whisper. “I'd be wondering, sure, but I wouldn't be...like this.” He gestures vaguely, not even sure himself what he's trying to say. Not a ball of anxiety and confusion with no clue how to heal and move on.

“You're doing the best you can, Tycho. You're so strong,” Wedge tells him earnestly. “You will get through this. I wish – I would take this from you if I could, you know.”

“I know.” Tycho doesn't have to know him as well as he should to hear the conviction in his voice. He lets out a whoosh of breath. “I don't know if that old Tycho is ever going to come back, Wedge. He might be gone forever.” It hurts to say so, but it feels true. How can he ever be the same after this?

“It doesn’t matter.” Wedge takes his hand again, threads their fingers together and squeezes. “I care about _you_ , Tycho. Whatever happens, I'm here to see you through. Everyone changes. We've all been through hell and back. I'm here,” he repeats, and Tycho feels himself tearing up again at his sincerity.

“Thank you,” he manages and lets Wedge pull him in for a tight hug.

 

“It’s still so strange,” Tycho explains to Brant during their next meeting. “I hardly know Wedge, even though I know I should. But for some reason, I still trust him. I feel safe with him. Does that make sense?”

“He’s one of few friendly faces you’ve seen during this ordeal, so it follows that you want to cling to him. Part of you may also feel pressured to get close to him again, knowing that relationship was previously there,” his counselor answers. “Is that right?”

Tycho nods, dropping his eyes to where his fingers are repeatedly smoothing over a seam of the blue couch. “I feel guilty knowing how it must hurt him that I don’t remember.”

“You’re recovering at your own pace, Tycho; that’s nothing to feel guilty about. From everything you’ve told me, Wedge is a good man. He’s doing his best to understand what you’ve been through and how you’re dealing with it, and he’s giving you the space you need as well as the support.”

Tycho smiles, and his hands still as he agrees softly, “He’s a very good man. I couldn’t ask for better. He’s so patient with me. He never gets frustrated when I don’t know things I should. He’s told me how much I’ve changed from who I was before Lusankya, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference to him. He tells me over and over that I can focus on healing and not worry about him or our relationship. I can tell he truly cares.”

“Then you just need to follow those feelings and take things as slow as you need to,” Brandt encourages. “I’m confident the two of you will work things out if that’s what you want.”

“It is,” Tycho confirms, and there’s something right about saying it out loud. “I like how he makes me feel. I like him. I want what we had again.”

Brandt smiles at him. “It sounds like you both know what you want. Even if you can’t get all of those old memories with your husband back, with work and care from both of you, you’ll come back together and make all sorts of new ones.”

Tycho breathes out in relief. He wants those memories back, as many of them as he can possibly get, but the idea of having new ones, more good times with Wedge in the future, is like a beacon. It’s something he can look forward to when this whole ordeal is done.

 

Tycho is practically bouncing at he waits for Wedge the next afternoon, and the smile his husband gives him as he's let into the room just makes him happier.

“You're cheerful today,” Wedge says, and Tycho nods eagerly.

“I had a dream last night,” he explains. “A memory. It was Canto Bight. It was kind of blurry, but not like the Lusankya dreams.” Tycho grins. “You said we were drunk, that's why. But we were happy, too. All of us were so happy. Everyone was smiling, and then we were at the chapel, and you and I held hands while the others watched, and you put the ring on my finger.”

“Is that all you remember?” Wedge asks.

Tycho wilts a little. “Is there more?”

“No, no.” Wedge steps forward quickly, smile reasserting itself as he takes Tycho's hands. “This is good. I'm glad you're remembering things.”

Tycho meets his eye, and Wedge looks almost as happy as he feels. Tycho feels sudden butterflies in his stomach and looks away, thinking even as he does that that reaction doesn't make sense. Wedge is his husband; he shouldn't feel shy around him.

Wedge squeezes his hands before letting go and reaching into his pocket. “I brought you the ring like you asked. NRI didn't want to let me give you anything, but they couldn't exactly say no.” He opens the little black box he draws out and removes a plain golden band, holding it out to Tycho.

It takes moment for Tycho to move, but when he does, he doesn't take it, simply holds out his hand. Wedge flushes a little, then slips the ring onto his finger. Tycho smiles again as he looks at it.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.” But Wedge is still looking at the ring on Tycho's hand like he's feeling a little too much at the sight, and Tycho thinks he understands.

“This has to be weird for you,” Tycho says quietly, running a finger across the band. “Staying away from me when we had to be so close before. Giving me space. I really appreciate that.”

Wedge's expression wobbles. “I won't do anything to make you uncomfortable.”

“I know.” Tycho reaches for his hand and pulls him to their usual spot on the bed. “Now, maybe you can tell me about your day for once instead of listening to me prattle on?”

 

Time passes. Tycho can never be entirely comfortable in captivity, whether benevolent or no, but he adjusts as much as possible. Eventually, NRI clears him to have a networked datapad to pass the time and catch up on all the things he missed while he was gone, though of course everything he does on it is monitored. Wedge visits most days, and slowly Tycho grows more comfortable with him, more accustomed to his presence, more secure in the belief that one day things will be as they were between them.

Sometimes he asks Tycho questions as NRI had instructed him, but he's always gentler than Turnell, and he stops whenever Tycho shows the least sign of getting upset. It does seem to help, at least a little. It’s through this softer questioning that Tycho is reminded of Jan, a fellow Lusankya captive, a kind old man who was with Tycho at his lowest assuring him he wasn’t going to die in the prison. Tycho hadn’t believed him then, and it feels good now to know he was right – though that sense of relief fades quickly at the thought that Jan is still trapped with Isard.

He remembers more and more, even outside of those sessions. Little things about his past, both in Lusankya and before. A joke Wes used to tell. The first undercover mission he and Wedge went on together, when Wedge’s inability to lie nearly got them caught until Tycho stepped in. Details of their relationship are still frustratingly few and far between, but Tycho is confident they will come. At one point, he chuckles over the recollection of Wedge agreeing to watch a horror holo with him and spending most of the night hidden under a blanket and eventually falling asleep on the couch beside him.

Sometimes, a detailed memory will just appear all at once. He's eating breakfast one morning when he remembers like a kick to the chest every detail of the moment he was captured trying to leave Coruscant. The painful shock of the ion blast, reaching for the TIE’s self-destruct only to have it fail, the sense of complete failure, the fear.

Another time he's going over with Turnell for the umpteenth time what he remembers of Isard's attempted conversion methods when suddenly wisps of memory coalesce. He was put in a flight simulator, he explains even as the images come back to him. He'd been drugged at the time, hazy and confused, and at first he'd recognized the TIEs surrounding him as friendlies. But, coming back to himself a little, finally at home in a cockpit, he recognized them for the enemies they were and attacked. Yet, even as he fired, the enemy ships before him transformed into Alliance starfighters, blown apart by his own weapons, and he'd stopped, sick with horror. The voice in his ear identifying itself as Control had praised his precision and commanded him to continue, and yet he couldn't. He knew somehow deep down it wasn't right to fire on them. And yet it was what he was supposed to be doing. He was a good soldier; he was a man who followed orders. He couldn't understand his aversion to this one.

Now, sitting in front of the NRI agent, all of those feelings assault him again. He'd been so broken down at that point. Hungry and thirsty, afraid, confused, mind sluggish with the drugs. Just...overwhelmed. He doesn't remember anything after that for a long time. Maybe it's what finally broke him.

Tears leak from Tycho's eyes as the flashback ends and his words trail off. Turnell merely raises an eyebrow at him over her datapad. “Can you compose yourself enough to continue the session?”

Tycho dashes away tears with shaking fingers. He doesn't want to. He wants to cry and wallow in how much he hurts just for a few minutes, but he can't in front of her. She's shown over and over again that she doesn't understand him and doesn't wish to.

“Very well,” the agent says with a much-put-upon sigh when he doesn't answer right way. “Clearly we're not going to get anything more useful out of you today.”

She leaves, and Sage approaches to take Tycho back to his room. He must look bad; the guard appears concerned.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his hand almost gentle on Tycho's arm as he walks beside him.

Again, Tycho doesn't speak. He doesn't want to lie, but he doesn't feel comfortable speaking frankly to the guard, either. Sage nods like maybe he understands.

Wedge is waiting in the room, having arrived early, and Tycho nearly bursts into tears again when he sees him, the relief is so strong.

“What–?” Wedge begins, all but leaping to his feet as Tycho approaches, but Tycho merely lets instinct take over, pressing himself against Wedge's chest, seeking comfort from one he trusts.

“Hey...” Wedge continues, softer now, arms tentatively going around Tycho. “What is it? What happened?”

The dam bursts. Tycho hides his face in Wedge's neck as he cries, hands fisting in the back of his shirt. He just wants it all to go away. The strange disjointedness of his memories, the feeling of NRI imprisonment constantly keeping him under a microscope – the trap that is his own mind.

He's shaking all over, and he can hear Wedge asking him more questions, chest vibrating against Tycho's, sounding more and more anxious, but even if he could understand them, he doesn't know how to answer. How can he explain what he feels when he barely knows himself?

After long, long minutes, Tycho calms just a little, and his surroundings filter back in. He's sitting now, on one of the chairs at the little table, Wedge bent before him with his hands on Tycho's knees.

“Hey,” he says softly when Tycho looks up. “Can you try to talk to me?”

“I'm sorry I scared you,” Tycho begins, a tremor still hitching in his voice.

Wedge's face twists, and he squeezes Tycho's knees. “No, don't do that.”

Tycho bites his lip and looks away.

“I'm not helping at all,” Wedge says, frustration evident. He stands and takes a step back. “Tell me what you need. What can I do for you right now?”

“I don't know,” Tycho whispers. He can hear the desperation in his own voice and doesn't know how to stop it. “Tell me I'm not crazy.”

“Of course you aren't.” Wedge pulls the other chair close and sits, taking both of Tycho's hands in his. “You're been through hell.” He looks around the room, expression hardening. “One could say you're still in it.” He softens again, squeezing Tycho's hands gently. “I don't know exactly what you're going through. I wish I did.” He reaches forward, almost hesitantly, brushing a tear from Tycho's cheek. “You can talk to me, though. You can tell me anything.”

Tycho lets out a soft, shuddery sound, leaning into Wedge's touch. When words come, they're trembling and quiet. “Isard broke me.” Wedge frowns, but Tycho plows on before he can deny it. “She did. She got inside my head. She's still there in a lot of ways.” He squeezes his eyes closed, trying to center himself, trying to put everything he feels into words. Wedge's hand is still in his, a lifeline.

“It's like I'm lost inside my own head,” Tycho tries. “There's still so much I don't remember from before that I'm afraid I never will. And every piece of Lusankya that comes back I wish hadn't.” He shudders, and when Wedge's hands tighten on his again, makes himself go on. Quiet and halting, he explains the memory that had come back to him, Isard's attempt to manipulate him into firing on the Alliance targets. “I couldn't tell what was real then,” Tycho finishes. “And I don't like that I'm starting to feel the same now.”

“It has to be hard having everyone be suspicious of you and tell you you're dangerous when you know you aren't. I'm sorry. And I'm sorrier that words don't help.” Wedge lets out a huff, clearly determined to keep himself composed for Tycho's sake. “But you're doing so well, Tycho. You've survived everything you've been through so far. You're going to get out of here. They're going to be convinced you won't hurt anyone – I won't rest until they do.”

“I just want to do something,” Tycho says. “Sitting in here day after day with nothing to think about but all of that is killing me. It's better when you're here, of course, but I know you have a life outside of me. A job to do. I want to be back there, too. I want to be back in my X-wing, taking on what's left of the Empire and winning this war.”

“You will. I promise.”

He says it with such conviction that Tycho has to believe it, though it doesn't allay all his worries. “When, though? I don't know how much longer I can stand this, Wedge.”

“I'll go straight to Ackbar first thing in the morning,” Wedge says, eyes sparking with determination. “There has to be something he can do to speed this along. He can't not listen to me.”

“I appreciate everything you've already done,” Tycho tells him. “And how patient you've been. I know it's hard.”

Wedge shakes his head. “Stop thinking about me when you're the one who was captured and tortured.”

Tycho shivers, even now just the word drawing up vague, disquieting impressions in the back of his head. “I'm so tired,” he admits, meaning far more than just his body.

“Let's rest, then.” Wedge uses their clasped hands to gently draw him to his feet and across the room, folding back the blankets so they can assume their usual position: Tycho lying down on one side, Wedge sitting just within reach.

“No,” Tycho says, wanting something else right now.

Wedge frowns a little, but Tycho tugs wordlessly on his hand, and Wedge lets him position them as he wants. Moments later, Wedge is on his back on the bed, Tycho nestled beside him with his head on his shoulder and one hand splayed on his chest.

“This feels good,” Tycho says softly, drinking in the warm solidity of Wedge's body against his. “I think I've been missing it without even knowing.”

Wedge carefully wraps an arm around him and strokes his back. “I'll do anything that helps.”

Tycho mumbles soft acknowledgment and rests against him.

After a little while, Wedge speaks again. “I have an idea. What if we brought Luke in? He's been off looking for more information on the Jedi, but I think he would come back for this. He could use the Force to look at your mind. Then everyone would know for sure you weren't altered.”

Tycho shudders and presses a little closer. “I'm not exactly excited about having anyone else messing around in my head. Even Luke.”

“I know, but I really think he could help. He would be gentle with you. And he's Luke Skywalker. People listen to what he says, and if he vouched for you...”

“I might get out much sooner,” Tycho finishes, mulling the thought over. He remembers some of his friendship with Luke, the last Jedi, the ace pilot who destroyed the first Death Star, but he was never as close to him as Wedge. Still, he knows Luke is as fiercely protective of his friends as anyone, and Tycho is certain he would do this for him. And Wedge trusts him to do this, how can Tycho not?

“Okay,” Tycho decides with a little nod. “You know how to reach him?”

“Yes. I already told him you were back, but I'm sure he'll come if I ask. Everyone is willing to help you however they can.”

Tycho's eyes mist a little. He knows it, deep down, but it's nice to hear aloud.

“I'll be there, too,” Wedge goes on. “If you think it will help. I'll sit there and hold your hand while Luke looks at your mind. You'll be safe with us.”

“Yes. I want that.”

“I won't let anyone from NRI tell me no.” Wedge's words are hard, determined, but his fingers stroking Tycho's back are still so soft, lulling him towards sleep.

Tycho lolls against his chest, drifting, enjoying the feel of those arms around him, safe in Wedge's embrace.

 

Hours later, Tycho eases out of deep and peaceful sleep to find Wedge shifting under him.

“Sorry,” Wedge murmurs, pausing as Tycho blinks up at him. “It's time for me to leave.”

Tycho yawns a little, traces of restful sleep still clinging to him. “That's okay. I'll see you tomorrow?”

Wedge nods. “I'll bring Luke as soon as I can.”

Wedge makes to move again, but Tycho stops him with a hand on his neck. “Before you go...” Tycho leans up and kisses him lightly. Wedge makes a surprised little sound, going utterly still under him for a second. “Is that okay?” Tycho whispers, close enough to see how wide and dark Wedge's eyes are.

Wedge smiles at him. “Yes, of course.” His hands travel up Tycho's back to thread in his hair. “This is nice.”

Tycho smiles too. “I wish you didn't have to go now. Come back as soon as you can.”

“Of course.” Wedge strokes his cheek for a moment, then makes himself turn away and wriggle out from under him. “Goodnight, Tycho,” he murmurs, hesitating beside the bed.

“Goodnight, Wedge.” Tycho rests his head on the pillow, rolling into the warm indentation left in the mattress, feeling calm even as he watches Wedge disappear through the door. Maybe things aren't as bad as he thought.


	3. Part Three

“Can you explain to me why the idea of having Luke in your head unnerves you so?” Dr. Brandt asks the next day.

Tycho tries not to fidget. “It's just...I know Isard manipulated me. She drugged and tortured me and tried to twist me around to doing her bidding, and she almost succeeded. I'm still not entirely at home in my own head, if I'm being honest, and the thought of someone else being able to invade my mind like that again is terrifying. And Luke has powers even Isard doesn't.”

“But Luke is a friend of yours. You don't trust him?”

“No, that's not it.” Tycho blows out a frustrated breath. “I don't know. It doesn't entirely make sense to me either.”

“It makes sense, Tycho,” Brandt assures him. “You're afraid of giving someone this kind of access to the most personal parts of yourself after the way it was taken by force before. It mirrors your physical responses: the way you explained pulling away from Wedge when he first approached you.”

“Yeah,” Tycho agrees thoughtfully. “That makes sense.”

Brandt gives him a smile. “For what it's worth, I wish you didn't have to do this, Tycho. No one wants to see you forced into something that frightens you. But I agree with your husband. This could be a big step toward exonerating you and getting you out of here.”

“That's all I want.”

“I know.” Brandt shuffles piles of flimsi on his desk and glances up from one to Tycho. “How are the two of you getting on? You talked to me about how strange it is knowing Wedge is your husband but feeling like you don't really know him. It's been a few weeks now; is that improving at all?”

Tycho thinks of last night's kiss and smiles to himself. “Yes. I feel closer to him all the time.”

“It's good that he's spending so much time with you. Having support from multiple sources is an important part of healing from your ordeal.”

Tycho nods. “The day I get to leave here and go home with him will be...” He doesn't doesn't even know how to describe that distant dream.

“A blessing,” Brandt suggests warmly. “Is there anything else you need to discuss with me today?”

Tycho smiles a little at the choice of words. “No. Besides the Luke thing, I feel pretty good today.”

 

Two days later, Luke Skywalker steps into Tycho's room beside Wedge. Tycho hangs back nervously, nodding a silent hello. Wedge approaches, standing beside him as Luke maintains a farther distance.

“It's good to see you, Tycho,” the Jedi says, offering a smile.

“You, too. It's been a long time,” Tycho offers in return.

“Too long. I should have come back sooner.”

“You're here now,” Wedge puts in. “That's what's important. We're glad.”

Tycho nods agreement.

“So, how do we do this exactly?” Tycho wants to know, pushing down anxiety as he tries to prepare himself for what's about to happen.

“It's simple, I promise,” Luke says. “I'll have you sit in a chair, and I'll sit across from you. I'll put my fingers on your temples to help me focus, and then I'll take a look around your mind. I'll be trying to sense any sort of duplicity on your part, implanted triggers, or anything else that seems off.”

“Can you really do that?” Tycho asks. “If none of the other Lusankya agents were detected before being activated, can you really know with me?”

Luke bites his lip for a moment. “It's hard to know anything for certain,” he admits, “but I'm going to do my best. After all, I never had access to any of them, and I know you.” He smiles reassuringly. “Not sure if you remember that, but it's true.”

Tycho closes his eyes, focuses on clear memories of Luke. How he'd blushed with pride whenever the story of the first Death Star was told. His rescue of Tycho when he defected on Dantooine and the way he'd welcomed him to the Rogues and to the Rebellion as a whole. Tycho's awe whenever he saw him with his lightsaber. “I remember.”

“We may as well get started, don't you think?” Wedge suggests. He looks into Tycho's eyes. “If you're ready?”

Tycho takes a deep breath. “Putting it off isn't going to make it easier.”

“Try not be nervous,” Luke encourages as Tycho pulls out a chair and sits in it. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you, Tycho.”

“Are you going to be able to see things I've forgotten?”

“I won't be able to see anything that isn't there,” Luke explains. “If the memories are truly gone, I can't retrieve them for you. However, if they're just suppressed, some things may be jarred loose. I'll be gentle.”

Tycho nods. “I trust you,” he says. He glances at Wedge, who's moved to take a place behind him, hands resting lightly on his shoulders. With this setup, there's no room for him to hold Tycho's hand like he'd promised, but Tycho tells himself that's okay. Then something else occurs to him. “I'm surprised the agents didn't want to tie me down and hook me up to a lie detector or something when you did this. They didn't even send someone to observe.”

The edge of Luke's lips quirks up. “That's Wedge's doing. He absolutely refused to have anyone else in here to make this harder on you.”

Wedge's hands tighten on his shoulders. “They're watching via the holocams and microcomms, though. They do have to know what's going on.”

“I understand.” Tycho touches his hand. “Thank you.”

Luke pulls over the other chair and raises his hands. “Are you ready, Tycho?”

Tycho nods. “What do I need to do?”

“Just try to relax and stay calm. Be open. If you fight me, it'll be harder for both of us.” He fixes Tycho with a serious look. “But if you need me to stop, say so. I can't promise this won't be unpleasant, but I'll try to make it as easy as possible.”

“Okay.” Tycho closes his eyes and breathes out, feels Luke's fingertips flutter at his temples. “I'm ready.”

Tycho isn't sure how to describe the sensation of Luke entering his mind. It's almost like his consciousness is a house and Luke is slowly walking through, opening doors and exploring rooms as he searches for something. It's soothing, in a way: Tycho can feel a sense of strength and calm flowing from his friend into himself at the same time, and it helps him not to panic at the strange feeling.

Tycho thinks he can almost see some of the things Luke is looking at. His mind drifts over the beatings he took on Akrit'tar, the torture Isard served him with electricity and water and sharp things – for a moment those are so visceral he gasps, feels tears on his cheeks and instinctive pleas on his tongue. Luke murmurs an apology and moves on. The memories fade again, Tycho breathes, and then he's remembering things that have happened since his return. He sees the giddy shock on Wedge's face the first time they were reunited, sees the flash of his ring as he's reminded of their marriage.

Tycho knows the moment Luke separates from him again, and he blinks his eyes open, feeling strangely dozy, like he's just woken from a long sleep or run a long way without rest.

Luke is giving Wedge an odd look over Tycho's shoulder, and Tycho's heart leaps into his throat. “What is it?” he asks anxiously.

“Nothing, nothing,” Luke soothes, eyes moving back to Tycho. The look on his face smooths to calm, relief. “I was just seeing some of the things Wedge has told you since you came back. I remember the night you two were married. It was quite an adventure.”

“What else did you see? Was there anything...suspicious?” Tycho breathes.

Luke's face bursts into a full-on sunny grin. “Nothing that I sensed.”

Wedge exhales, loud and relieved, behind him, and Tycho feels everything in himself relax. “Nothing,” he repeats, almost numbly. He doesn't even know what to think, the relief is so strong.

“No intentional duplicity, no lies, no artificial constructs, nothing to suggest you're any different than you were before.” Luke pats his knee. “Like I said, I can't promise NRI will listen to me or that this will be the final word on your condition, but I think it will help.”

“It'll help.” Tycho can hear the grin in Wedge's voice, the happy relief. “Thank you, Luke.”

“It's the least I can do for my friends.” He looks between them, settles back on Tycho. “Are you okay? It wasn't too much?”

“I'm okay.”

Wedge moves to his side, looking into his face with concern. “Are you sure? You were crying...”

“More memories of what Isard did to me,” Tycho explains quietly. “Nothing I didn't already know, but...more vivid. It was almost like being back there.” He glances at Luke, knowing he understand now, perhaps more than anyone else, having seen them.

Luke nods silently at him. “Thank you for trusting me. I wish I could keep your secrets, but the agents are going to want to question me now.”

“I understand. It's all right.”

Luke pushes his chair back and stands. “I should go and get that over with. You're sure you're okay?”

Tycho nods. “Thank you, Luke.”

Luke tilts his head, a little bit of a shy smile on his face. “How about a hug before I go?”

Tycho lets the smile catch on his own face and stands, wrapping his arms around his friend.

“I'll see you again soon,” Luke promises. “Drinks on me when you get out, yeah?” Tycho agrees, and a moment later, Luke is gone.

The moment they're alone, Wedge reels Tycho into his arms. “You didn't look okay.”

“Seeing it like that was hard,” Tycho admits. He sighs quietly, tucking his face into Wedge's neck. “I'm glad the two of you were with me. I knew it wasn't really real. I knew I wasn't really back there.”

“You never will be.” Wedge's arms drape around his waist, and though Tycho's thoughts are still too close to those old tortures, this is different. Wedge's arms aren't a restraint, aren't a cage – they're a shield.

Tycho tilts his head back, gazing into Wedge's eyes. Dark brown and full of nothing but concern for him. Tycho's lips move without conscious thought. “I love you, Wedge.”

Emotion spasms across Wedge's face, so strong and so fast Tycho can barely read it. Then his eyes flick closed, and he rests their foreheads together. “I love you, too, Tycho,” he whispers and kisses him.

Tycho can't remember the last time he felt so safe and whole.

 

Tycho is much calmer today than the first time the medical droid scanned his brain. He sits still as she tucks him into the chair and bends the helmet over him. When the device is finished scanning him and the droid turns the display toward him, he leans forward eagerly.

Tycho knows the scan doesn't tell him half of what it does the professional in front of him, but even he thinks it looks better.

“You're much improved,” the droid confirms, and if she were an organic humanoid, he thinks she'd be smiling. “You'll want to set up continuing appointments with a neurologist to keep monitoring your progress, of course.”

Tycho tilts his head. “Won't I be seeing you anymore?”

“One would assume you would not want to return to this place for further appointments in the future.”

It strikes Tycho then, and his heart flips. “Do you mean...?”

“If I am the first you are hearing it from, allow me to congratulate you, Captain Celchu, on your imminent freedom.”

Tycho can't stop the grin that blooms on his face. Can this be true? They've actually decided to let him go? Luke's contribution tipped them in Tycho's favor that much?

“When?” he asks the droid breathlessly.

“I cannot say, but this will be our final meeting. Others will have more information for you.”

It ends up being Turnell who briefs him fully on the development.

“I do not agree with my superiors,” she says, ever-suspicious eyes piercing Tycho. “However, they have come to a decision. Seeing as we are unable to find any verifiable implanted triggers, either physical or mental, and seem to have extracted all the information we can, we no longer have reason to detain you.” She sneers. “You are a drain on resources, if nothing else.”

Tycho can't even be angry. He still feels too light inside at the thought that he may never have to see her again after today.

“We will continue to monitor you,” Turnell goes on. “Any suspicious behavior will be cause for your immediate recall. And you will, of course, report at once any relevant information, including, but not limited to, further returning memories or strange, especially violent, impulses. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She peers at him as if trying to determine whether or not he's being sarcastic. Finally, she stands. “You leave tomorrow. I don't want to see your face again,” she tells him. “Don't prove me right.”

 

Tycho is practically floating as Sage takes him back to his room for the final time. It feels like a miracle. So long detained, and finally he's going to be free, just like that. He doesn't even know what he wants to do first.

Sage smiles and congratulates him quietly before he leaves, and Tycho thanks him.

He paces the room, too much excited energy flowing through his veins to keep still, and when Wedge comes for his daily visit, Tycho all but launches himself into his arms. “They're letting me go!” he cries, kissing his husband fiercely.

Wedge holds him tight, entire face shining. “I heard! Tycho, I'm so glad.”

“Me too. I feel like I've been here half a lifetime.”

“Two months,” Wedge says more somberly. “Far longer than you should have.”

“It doesn't matter now. I told you they'd clear me eventually, and they did!”

Wedge chuckles, clearly taken by his enthusiasm, and kisses him again.

 

Tycho has his final meeting with Brandt the next morning. The Gotal is all smiles from the moment Tycho enters the room. “I’m so happy for you, Tycho,” he says warmly once Tycho has seated himself. “It will be good for you to get out of this place and into a different environment. You’ve come so far already; it’s time for you to move on.”

Tycho nods, excitement bubbling inside him. “I’m relieved,” he says. “It’ll be good to be out. But I’m a little nervous, too.”

“That’s understandable. You’ve haven’t really been free to be your own person for months and months. That will be a change.”

“I’m eager for it, though.”

Brandt chuckles affectionately. “I bet you are.” He pulls out a datacard and offers it to Tycho. “It is my recommendation that you find another counselor to continue meeting with. You’re been recovering well, but it can always be helpful to have a professional to speak to. I’ve taken the liberty of making some recommendations.”

“Thank you.” Tycho pockets the datacard. “I have to admit...I’m anxious about having to start over with someone new.”

“That is completely understandable. We’ve formed a bond; we’ve had time to build understanding and trust. It’s difficult to have to establish those things from the ground up again.” He gestures to Tycho’s pocket. “I hope you’ll trust me when I say these are some of the best people I know. Specialists in post-traumatic stress disorder, memory loss, anxiety. Any of them will be able to help you as much as I have. Perhaps even more.”

They talk for awhile more, about the progress Tycho has made, the coping mechanisms he’s learned, the things he still wants to work on. In the end, he feels confident that he’ll be able to keep growing and healing even without Dr. Brandt’s help.

Finally, the moment comes. Brandt stands, as does Tycho, and counselor asks him with a grin on his face, “So, Tycho, are you ready to get out of here?”

Tycho has never been more ready for anything in his life.

 

Tycho walks out of NRI Headquarters with his head held high, Wedge's hand in his, and doesn't look back for a second. The sun is shining, and a soft wind blows on his face. He stands there at the foot of the steps for a moment, just taking it in. His first taste of fresh air in eight weeks. The sounds of life, a city bustling around him.

“My place is this way,” Wedge says, tugging his hand. “It's close enough to walk.”

Tycho enjoys the walk more than he can say. During his captivity, he never got to go farther than the distance from his cell to the interrogation room or Dr. Brandt's office or the medical wing. Now, he stretches his legs in the sun and takes in the brilliance of a Chandrilan afternoon. He feels more truly alive than he has in months, all the lingering shadows in his mind at peace for a blissful moment.

After a few blocks, Wedge takes his hand back and draws away a little.

“What are you thinking?” Tycho asks, seeing the pensive look on his face.

Wedge's expression flashes to startlement, then smooths to peace as he gives Tycho a smile. “Just thinking what we should do when we get there. I can make dinner?”

“Maybe I should make dinner. I remember how good your 'cooking' is.” Tycho laughs at memories of various types of burned foods – and a particularly memorable attempt at tauntaun steak – but Wedge merely smiles wanly.

“You sure there's nothing wrong?” Tycho asks again, some of his own levity draining away at Wedge's continued preoccupation.

Wedge sighs. “We have stuff to talk about when we get home.”

“Okay.” Tycho isn't sure what he means. Living arrangements, maybe? Is he worried Tycho doesn't want to be close to him? Because that certainly isn't true. Or maybe he really is worried about his cooking. Tycho smiles, unperturbed. He's free and happy. Nothing can darken his mood today.

 

The apartment is small, but it's the kind of place Tycho would expect Wedge to live: simple but warm and homey. There are a few holos spread around of Red and Rogue Squadrons and his other friends. Tycho expects a portrait from their wedding or something of that romantic sort but finds none. He wonders with a pang if that was something too painful for Wedge to keep in sight while he was gone.

“Sit down, Tycho,” Wedge says quietly, gesturing to the soft red loveseat.

Tycho does, and Wedge stands in front of him in the middle of the small lounge area. His hands twist and fidget, and finally he shoves them in his pockets.

“I have to tell you something,” Wedge says.

Tycho feels cold suddenly, like he's abruptly realized this is more serious than he thought. Wild theories ricochet though his brain, each more gut-wrenching than the last. People whose deaths he hasn't remembered or been told about. Something the NRI doctors told Wedge that they didn't tell him. The possibility that Wedge moved on while he thought Tycho was dead, and this is when he's going to break it.

“Tycho...we're not actually married.”

“What?”

“Well, we are.” Wedge's face twists, one hand jerking out from his pocket to rub nervously through his hair. “Just not the way you think.”

“Wedge, I don't understand.” But Tycho's stomach is sinking, his hands going clammy.

“That night on Canto Bight,” Wedge says, fidgeting anxiously. “It happened like I said. The squadron was there. We got drunk. People teased us. So we got married. It was just a stupid dare. But we were never actually in a relationship.”

Tycho's mouth drops open, his tongue dry when he rasps, “You lied to me.”

Wedge's face spasms. “I didn't want to.” He goes to his knees, reaching for Tycho's hand, but Tycho jerks away.

“ _Why?_ ”

“We never got the thing annulled. There weren't a lot of opportunities, and it didn't matter that much. It didn't change anything, so we just kind of forgot about it.” Wedge takes a breath from the frantic stream of words, face pleading. “It was the only thing I could think of to get NRI to let me see you. They couldn't refuse your husband.”

“You could have told me the truth.” Tycho is thinking of all the opportunities, all the times they were close. The soft words and kisses and those three words he'd said after Luke looked at his mind.

“They would have heard. They were always listening. You have to understand, Tycho. I never thought it would happen like this. I needed–”

“This was never about _you_ , Wedge!” Tycho explodes suddenly. He stands, a glare on his face as he looks at the man who claims to be his husband. Tycho's hands shake where he clenches them at his sides. “Did you ever really think about me? What this is like? What this whole thing has been like?” He's fighting down tears now, the entire world which had been so bright only minutes ago having shifted dangerously under his feet. “I needed someone I could trust, and that was you. And now you're telling me none of it was true?” His voice breaks, and he swallows ferociously.

“No, Tycho. It was true. I–”

“Don't say it,” Tycho barks. “I needed solidity, Wedge. I needed someone I could count on, someone who wouldn't manipulate me or have ulterior motives.” He chokes on the next words but pushes them out because he needs Wedge to know what he's done. “You screwed with my head exactly the way Iceheart did.”

Wedge's mouth drops open, all the color draining from his face, but Tycho can't feel bad. “Things changed,” he whispers. “I didn't mean for it to happen this way.”

“I need to leave.” Tycho turns toward the door, but Wedge steps in front of him. Tycho's fists come up defensively. “Get out of my way.”

“Don't go. I – I'll go.” Wedge swallows thickly. “I need – no. It's not about me. You should be somewhere safe. I understand you need to be alone, and you can be here. You don't have to go somewhere else. I'll...” He trails off, gives Tycho one last quick, meaningful look, then grabs his coat and is out the door.

Tycho's legs give out, and he sits hard on the couch. Wedge lied to him. The relationship, the man, the things Tycho had clung to through those hardest of times were all fabricated. Wedge never had those feelings for Tycho, and Tycho didn't for him. It explains why Tycho could never remember much of their supposed relationship. He was searching for something that didn't exist.

He'd tried so hard to get it back. Wedge's repeated reassurances that it didn't matter, that Tycho could focus on other things, suddenly make sense now, the words like acid in his gut. But, again, those quiet moments, the way Wedge held his hand and whispered comforts. The tentative kiss. The _I love you, too, Tycho._

Tycho's hands shake. Lies. Wedge had bought into his own con, it seems, and now they're here. The entire relationship, fledgling and new and meaningful as it was, was based on falsehood. Tycho doesn't know what he's going to do. Wedge was his best friend. He knows in his gut that part is true. But Tycho doesn't know if he can even look him in the eye now.

He just sits there, numb and unblinking, for a long time as the galaxy keeps moving around, uncaring of whether he understands it. Quite suddenly, a sob tears itself from his chest, and then he can't stop. He cries until his stomach hurts, until he has to go sit in the refresher because he feels like he might throw up.

And even as he sits there, curled in on himself on the edge of the tub, he can't help thinking that this is Wedge's space. Only Wedge's. All those little dreams, the ones Tycho had barely let himself touch, of returning to the life they had shared, a space they could exist in together, of sleeping beside his husband...those are gone too.

He doesn't know how much time passes, but finally he pulls enough of himself together to step woodenly to the sink and wash his face. When he returns to the living room, the sun has sunk low in the sky, and Wedge still isn't back.

Tycho sits on the couch again, unsure of what to do next. He wishes he had a way of contacting Dr. Brandt. He wants more than anything in this moment to hear the calm, soothing voice of the counselor, to have him help Tycho unravel the chaos going on around him and in his own head.

He tries not to think of how he’d expect this night to be. He won't have Wedge to cook for him, not that he'd want that now. There won't be any discussions of what they might do now that he's been released. They won't go to bed together. Tycho shoves that thought ferociously from his mind.

He's still sitting there a little while later when there's a chime from the next room. With nothing else to do, Tycho follows it and finds a small office, the terminal there lit up with a new message. It's addressed to Wedge, but the title bears Tycho's name in all capital letters.

He opens it with a spiteful thought that he deserves one of Wedge's secrets – what kind of communications has Wedge been having about him behind his back, anyway? – and finds that it's actually for him. A self-addressed message from Wedge, a way of contacting him since he hasn't gotten a new comlink yet. Short and simple, it reads: _Tycho – spending the night with Luke. Help yourself to anything you need._ – _Wedge_

Tycho lets out a breath as he shuts down the terminal. Part of him is grateful Wedge didn't try to apologize again. He's not ready to hear that. He supposes he should feel guilty for kicking Wedge out of his own home, but he can't seem to summon the feeling.

Though he's not really hungry, Tycho goes to the kitchen and finds something to eat. The place is lightly stocked with the sort of instant meals Wedge usually prefers, so it takes almost no effort to fix himself something. He eats it sitting at the single chair at the small table, staring at the wall and tasting nothing.

Luke had known. The look he had given Wedge after walking through Tycho's memories makes sense now. He'd seen the lie Tycho had been told and knew it for what it was. Tycho wants to be angry at Luke for not stepping in and telling him them, but he's already too full up of emotions. Tycho wonders what he and Wedge are discussing at this very moment.

Little things since Tycho's return keep coming back to him. The awkwardness with which Wedge had informed him of their marriage. His questions of what exactly Tycho remembered of the wedding. That unidentified emotion on Wedge's face when Tycho had said those words. Guilt, Tycho realizes. Fear that he would be found out. Fear of Tycho's reaction.

Tycho squeezes his eyes closed.

But there are other images there, too. Wedge's face when Tycho kissed him the first time, a little surprised but warm and receptive. The care in the gentle caresses he had given him as they lay together. The reverence and surety in his voice when he said _I love you_ back.

Emotion snarls in Tycho's chest, his eyes prickling again. Those weren't lies. He knows Wedge isn't that good an actor. Touch doesn't lie, not the way Wedge does it, and Tycho doesn't know what to think. Can a lie become truth? Can an act become reality?

Tycho knows before today he would have said he loved Wedge. He meant the words when he said them. How could anyone not love those gentle eyes and that fierce, protective manor when it's fighting just for them, determined to drive away their nightmares? But he has to ask himself if he would have chosen this. If he hadn't assumed he was already involved with Wedge, would he have tried to make the relationship work? He can't even say for certain whether he ever had any romantic feelings for his friend before Lusankya. While the memories have mostly returned, he doesn't have every moment, and he certainly can't remember what wasn't there to begin with.

He knows they flew well together and clicked as people. Best friends and the “best wingmates around” aren’t things that just happen. There are years and years of deep connection, of shared joy and sorrow and adventure, of saving each other’s lives more times than either of them could count. But was there ever the spark of something more, or is it solely a result of the manipulation?

Tycho shudders at the thought. He can't let it go that Wedge messed with his mind when he was most vulnerable. That _hurts_ . It makes him want to cry again; it makes him long for comfort he no longer has. But the logical part of his brain asserts itself, as well. Wedge wanted to be with him, to take care of him. And Tycho needed someone. Wedge didn't _want_ to hurt him.

Would Tycho have done the same if their situations were reversed? The question rankles, and he doesn't know how to answer it. There's so much he doesn't know.

He stares at the ring still on his finger, then sets down his spoon and pulls it off. Staring at the simple golden band won't provide him answers, though, so he sets it on the table, and goes back to the living room.

He sees again the pain on Wedge's face as he explained the situation. He hadn't wanted it to end this way. He explained his deception to Tycho as soon as he felt he had the opportunity. Tycho wants to be angry. He wants to be indignant, to yell and scream and punch things. But all he can feel now is confused and tired.

The exhaustion, the sudden emotional upheaval sapping his energy, wins. He considers, briefly, sleeping in Wedge's bed, surrounding himself with Wedge's scent and letting himself imagine just for the night. But no. He finds a spare blanket in a closet and huddles on the too-small loveseat.

It takes a long time of tangled thought, of tossing and turning, the shadows growing longer across the floor, until unconsciousness claims him.

 

Tycho wakes to another message. _I have a meeting this morning, then I'll be home around noon._ His gut clenches at the thought of facing Wedge again, but, regardless of what's between them, he can't rightfully keep him from his home.

He considers leaving before Wedge gets back, but being without a comlink or money to buy one and relatively unfamiliar with Hanna City, he doesn't know where he would go. He tries to watch some holonews to pass the time, but his attention keeps wandering, so eventually he turns it off. He sits, trying to figure out what he'll say to Wedge, and waits.

Just after noon, there's a hesitant knock at the door. Tycho knows Wedge would have told him if he was expecting anyone else, so there's no putting it off any longer.

He opens the door. There are dark circles under his eyes, and he looks miserable. Tycho fights down a pang of sympathy as he steps back to let him in.

“I want to make this right,” Wedge says quietly. “I know I didn't think about what I was doing. I screwed up.”

Tycho crosses his arms. “Did Luke tell you to say that?”

Wedge winces. “I didn't need him to.”

Tycho waits for him to go on.

“I never wanted to lie to you,” Wedge explains. “If I could have thought of any other way convince NRI, I absolutely would have. I should have, but I panicked. I should have found a way to tell you, at least. I'm sure you would have played along.”

“I wanted you there as badly as you wanted to be there,” Tycho allows.

“And then it got worse. I...I've cared for you for a long time, Tycho.” Wedge's eyes dart to his, then away again. “Pretending was easier and harder than I ever imagined. Having you like that...it was selfish, but I wanted it. And it seemed to help you, too. I wanted to hold you and comfort you, and when you let me...it was addictive.”

“I liked it,” Tycho tells him evenly. “From the moment I got back, I just wanted to not be alone. That was what I missed the most: a friend. Someone who was there for _me_ , not to ask me questions or be suspicious. And when you said we were married...it was a shock at first, but that love was something I wanted, too. I felt so broken, but you still wanted me. It felt like a miracle, and I wanted it so badly.”

Pain creases Wedge's face. “You don't want it anymore.”

Tycho sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You hurt me, Wedge. You lied, and this entire relationship is based on that.”

“It wasn't just that for me,” Wedge whispers.

“I can't say if I loved you before,” Tycho tells him honestly. “I wish I knew. I wish I did. It would make this easier.”

Wedge nods, eyes big and round and uncertain. “Earlier...you said not to say it. Can I say it now?”

“Wedge...”

Wedge steps forward, slowly reaching for his hand, and though Tycho doesn't resist this time, he stays absolutely still.

“I love you,” Wedge tells him, looking into his eyes now, a certainty on his face Tycho recognizes. “That was never a lie. You're my best friend. You're my other half – my better half, as cliche as it sounds. You're the bravest and strongest man I know. I want to be with you, and not just to comfort you when you're hurting.” He takes a deep breath and lets go of Tycho's hand. “I understand what I did. I didn’t think about how it would feel for you to have that truth come out. I didn’t think about what a betrayal it was, but I understand now. I understand why it hurts, Tycho, and I am so sorry. You said it’s not about me, and I understand that, too, but that look on your face when I told you...” His voice shakes. “I’ll never forget that. I’ll never forget that I did that to you, and there’s nothing I can ever do to take it back. I am ready to walk away from this if that's what you want. I’ve said I would never do anything to make you uncomfortable, and I still want that to be true. But, Tycho...” He blinks, eyes shiny with emotion. “I remember when you told me you loved me. I remember how that made me feel. That was real.”

“It was real,” Tycho echoes. He hesitates, then reaches for Wedge's hand. “At some point over the past two months, I fell in love with you.” The fingers of his free hand drift to his chest. “That hasn't gone away. I'm shocked and hurt; I'm not going to lie about that. But I've thought a lot, and I'm not ready to throw this away either – our friendship or our love.” A weight eases from his chest as he says the word. “I want to try this, Wedge. But we have to start over. It _has_ to be different. We can't have secrets between us.” His voices falters a little. “I can't deal with something like this again.”

“No,” Wedge is quick to assure, squeezing his hand tight. “No, never again.”

“Okay.” Tycho breathes, deep and easy, finally feeling everything inside him begin to settle again. “Okay. Let's do this.”

Wedge makes a little sound like he's overwhelmed with emotions and lurches forward – then catches himself at the last moment. “Can I kiss you?” he asks.

Tycho nods, threading a hand into his husband's hair and pulling him in. Their lips touch, soft and reassuring. It feels right.

“I love you,” Tycho murmurs when they part.

“I want to be worthy of it,” Wedge answers softly. He bumps his forehead against Tycho's. “And I love you, too. So much.”

“You did marry me.” Tycho touches Wedge's ring, the reality of it reaching him for maybe the first time. They really are married. Wedge is his husband. “Maybe it was always meant to be.” Then he remembers his ring, still on the kitchen table. “Hang on.” He tugs Wedge there with him, picks up the ring and catches Wedge's eyes as he puts it back on. “That's better.”

“You're beautiful,” Wedge tells him, the sincerity in his voice catching on Tycho's heart. “I can't believe you're really mine.”

“Believe it,” Tycho says, and he takes his hand again. Their rings _tink_ together softly.

“In the interest of not keeping secrets,” Wedge says, and his eyes are shining with pure joy now, putting shame to his claim that Tycho is the beautiful one. “Can I tell you about my meeting?”

There's so much enthusiasm there, Tycho can only imagine. “Of course.”

“I saw Ackbar. We've been working on a project since just before you got back, and it finally got signed off on.” Wedge grins. “Rogue Squadron is being reformed, Tycho. All new pilots with me back in command, and I want you as my XO.”

Tycho loses his breath for a moment as excitement washes through him in a wave. “Will Command let me? I've been cleared, but I know they're still wary of me.”

“Of course they will.” Wedge's words aren't factual certainty, but the promise that he won't accept any other answer.

“I'll be flying again,” Tycho muses, warmth bubbling in his chest again. “I'll be back in the fight.”

“We'll be back in it together.” Wedge can't stop smiling, and it's a good look on him. “I have you. I'll have the Rogues. Everything is perfect.”

That's not quite true. Tycho knows things aren't over for him. He's still scarred by what he went though, and he knows this relationship is going to take work. He knows the future won't be easy, but he has Wedge at his side and renewed purpose. Tycho has survived everything life has thrown at him so far, and he's going to keep doing just that.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Last to Know [PODFIC]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18713371) by [icandrawamoth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth), [lilyrose225](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyrose225/pseuds/lilyrose225)




End file.
